


Embarrassment, He Wrote

by AnnaofAza



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Awkward Crush, Eggsy Writes RPF, Humor, M/M, Pining, Purple Prose, professor/student
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-22
Updated: 2016-06-22
Packaged: 2018-07-16 16:17:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7275034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaofAza/pseuds/AnnaofAza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Professor Hart,” Eggsy begins, just to give it a go, but the headmaster raises one palm in the air, halting anything Eggsy was about to say, which, admittedly, wasn’t going to be enough.</p>
<p>“Mr. Unwin, I’m flattered, but this chocolate fantasy you so…lovingly detailed is not going to happen.”</p>
<p><em> And here he was, allowing his professor—his headmaster—his </em> <em><span class="u"> boss</span></em><em>, of all people, to sneak his way into his heart, which simmered like a marinara sauce every time he saw him. </em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Embarrassment, He Wrote

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Krissielee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Krissielee/gifts).



> To Krissie: I’m deeply, deeply sorry that this is so late. I’m an awful human being; my beta reader has volunteered to put some of the blame on herself, but nah, I’m taking full responsibility due to procrastination, college, and getting sidetracked by other fics. But I do hope you like this! (I did, after all, read samples of Harlequin novels to get a feel for Eggsy’s purple prose-y writing) 
> 
> Intentionally bad writing ahead! (Eggsy’s, of course. Not mine. Hopefully.)

_From the email of Eggsy Unwin:_

_Taking a deep, shallow breath—the same way he did before attempting a pretty ballsy free-running jump—Eggsy knocked on the door, heart pounding in anticipation._

_“Come in,” a voice said from the other side, and Eggsy, gulping, opened it._

_“Hello, Harry,” he said, striding in as casually as he could, hands in his pockets. He had always been a one-night stand sort of bloke, and had never been tempted to fall in love with anyone before—or so he thought._

_And here he was, allowing his professor—his headmaster—his_ _boss_ _, of all people, to sneak his way into his heart, which simmered like a marinara sauce every time he saw him._

* * *

In hindsight, it was Roxy’s fault.

That’s the conclusion Eggsy comes up with while sitting in the headmaster’s office this afternoon.

Eggsy’s been waiting for him to arrive and decide his punishment, and the thing that Eggsy’s so nervous about is that he doesn’t _know_ what his punishment will be. A mark on his record? Detention? Expulsion? No, it can’t be expulsion…

He’s lucky that the old Headmaster King was recently fired for embezzling and handpicking family members or gold-medal arse-kissers, not those who really deserved and needed them, for scholarships; otherwise, this meeting might be even more mortifying than it already is shaping up to be. Eggsy might actually get expelled, but Harry won’t let that happen, not when he fought so hard for a place for Eggsy at this school. Right?

But there’s always a possibility—always a chance—that when he realizes exactly what Eggsy’s done, he’ll be disappointed. Disgusted, most likely, and—

“Mr. Unwin.” Eggsy jumps. He hadn’t heard or seen the headmaster enter the room until he’d sat down across from Eggsy, hands folded on the desk.

Eggsy gulps, not just at the realization that this meeting is truly about to begin, but at the way Harry looks. He’s impeccably dressed as always, in a pinstriped, bespoke suit and a neatly-knotted, striped tie, with glasses pushed up the bridge of his nose. Silver strands catch in the sunlight coming from the window behind him, and even though Eggsy knows that it’s not the time to start fantasizing—which is what got him into this mess in the first place—he envisions, not for the first time, his own fingers running through the pomade-slicked hair, messing up the posh hairstyle, and leaving that evidence behind as the older man goes through the rest of the day, a clear signal: _Eggsy was here._

_Wrong,_ Eggsy reminds himself. _It’s wrong._

Harry now lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Care to tell your side of the story?”

* * *

 

_From the email of Eggsy Unwin:_

_Of all the applicants that applied for university that year, Eggsy had been surprised that someone like Harry Hart had singled him out._

_They’d seen each other for the first time into Harry’s afternoon English class during Eggsy’s first year. As Eggsy slouched in the front row, trying to ignore the curious chatter surrounding his clothes and used textbooks,_ _he_ _had strolled in, a dashing figure in a pinstriped suit that emphasized the long, long lines of his muscled legs and arms._

_His mum often made fun of novels that described women’s legs as going on for miles, but Eggsy, now looking at his professor, understood._

_His hair was slicked back with pomade, his eyes roguish and whiskey-chocolate brown, and his lips quirked in a slow, devastatingly sexy way. And when he put his suitcase on the desk and leaned against it, ever so lazily, like a cat in the sun, Eggsy knew he was a goner._

_His heart pounded a steady beat in his chest._

_He was_ _helpless_ _._

_Looking right at him, the professor smiled, and with a voice suited only for kings, said, “Welcome to English. You may call me Professor Hart.”_

* * *

It all started with Roxy Morton’s elective.

His best mate was wicked smart, studying up to be a lawyer, and Eggsy could easily imagine her clicking in heels across the courtroom, eyes fiery-sharp and voice steely. He’d never seen her rattled—though Roxy claimed to be tremendously afraid of heights—but now, typing on her laptop in the quad, Roxy’s cheeks were flushed bright pink, and she would occasionally shake her head as she stabbed an index finger repeatedly on the backspace button.

“What’re you looking at?” Eggsy asked, trying to sneak a peek at the screen, but she only maneuvered her laptop so only the back showed. “Is it porn?”

“No, Eggsy,” Roxy said, looking amused. “Why would I be looking at porn in a public place?”

Her perfectly flat tone was impressive, but Eggsy knew something was going on. “Come on, Rox, tell me.”

“Absolutely not,” Roxy said.

Eggsy lunged at her.

After a brief wrestling match, in which Roxy rolled into a defensive ball and Eggsy tried for a solid fifteen minutes to pry her arms away from the laptop, Eggsy finally plucked it from her grip and opened it.

He read out loud: “ _She leaned inwards and touched her lips to hers. Eyes burning with passion—_ Rox, you’re seriously going to read this out loud in next week?”

“Amelia liked it _,_ ” Roxy groused.

“The same Amelia that got you to go skydiving last weekend?”

Roxy’s cheeks turned even pinker. “Yes, _that_ Amelia. It’s…going well.”

“That’s really sweet, Rox,” Eggsy said sincerely, meaning it. Previously, Roxy had as much luck as he did with romance—meaning none—so it was great to see his best mate happy, even if he himself was still single and often third-wheeled on their outings. “But seriously, you’re turning this in for Professor Spencer?”

Roxy sighed when Eggsy highlighted _Elizabeth swooned_ on the document. “Everyone’s writing about high-class, heterosexual couples, you know, and I wanted to break the mold a little, except…” She winced. “Romance is not my genre.”

Eggsy pointed out, “You just wrote the kissing scene.”

“Because I knew it would be the hardest for me!” Roxy sighed, snatching the laptop away. “Oh, what, like you can do better? Let me see what _you_ have written, Mr. Unwin.”

“…I haven’t started.”

Roxy smirked, holding up a cupped hand to her ear mockingly. “I’m sorry, what was that?”  

Eggsy sighed exasperatedly. “It’s just—I got a lot going on, and this elective honestly is taking a backseat to my other classes and my job—well, at least I’m not working at the McDonald’s where fucking _Charlie_ and his mates go to.”

Roxy raised her eyebrows. “Is it true what they say about Professor Hart? That he’s a hardarse?”

“He’s really not that bad, Rox, just a lot of papers to mark up and—” Eggsy hesitated. How could he tell his best mate about his stupid crush on his…technically boss? How they graded papers together in Professor— _call me Harry outside the classroom_ —Harry’s office, knees touching underneath the desk? How they occasionally muttered comments and laughed at truly atrocious theses? How, sometimes, they’d go out after to eat and Harry would laugh at Eggsy’s jokes and his eyes would crinkle at the corners and Eggsy’s heart would _glow_ like in some soap opera and then—

“Earth to Eggsy?” Roxy suddenly said, waving her hand in front of his face.

Eggsy blinked, looking at his friend’s bemused expression, and tried to smile. “He keeps me busy. Anyway, let’s maybe try to take a crack at this assignment today.”

* * *

_From the email of Eggsy Unwin:_

_… But now, Harry was now smiling at him—a gentle, crooked thing—but his eyes smoldered like red-hot coals. “Sit down, will you?”_

_Eggsy did, dropping his book bag onto the floor. He was exhausted from classes, and he was sure he looked like it, with bags underneath his eyes and a jacket he was sure belonged in the laundry hamper. Most assuredly, he did not look as put-together as Harry always did, curse him, and Eggsy was painfully aware of the wide, yawning canyon between them that prevented anything from happening._

_How Eggsy longed to cross that line, but he couldn’t._

* * *

After an hour or two of writing and deleting entire paragraphs—once, even half a page—Eggsy decided to give up and head back to the dormitories to get supper and later call his mum. After she left Dean—thank God—Eggsy had taken to Skyping her and Daisy almost every night to make sure they were all right and that his scumbag ex-stepfather was obeying the restraining order.

Roxy was meeting Amelia and her study group in half an hour, so she bid goodbye to Eggsy, who was still frustrated over the assignment. With a promise to meet each other tomorrow to work on it, Eggsy waved to her as he shoved his laptop into his bag and began his walk across campus.

“Eggsy!” someone called, and he turned on the path, seeing none other than Harry Hart in his usual suit with a briefcase in hand and glasses perched on his nose.

Smiling weakly, Eggsy stopped as Harry walked towards him with one of his soft smiles.

“I was just hoping to catch you before you left,” Harry said. “Do you have a minute?”

“Sure,” Eggsy replied, trying to nod casually. “What’s up, then?”

“Well, Alastair—Roxanne’s uncle, as you know—mentioned you were applying for graduate study soon, and if you ever need a recommendation letter, I’d be happy to write you one.”

Eggsy startled. “M-me?”

Harry chuckled, amused. “Yes, you. Just send me a copy of your resume—activities and jobs I might not know about—and let me know when you need the letter by.”

“Yeah, okay. Yeah. Th-thank you so much, Harry, this is so—I—“

“It’s no trouble,” Harry said, waving away his stuttering with a hand—a large hand with very long fingers that could wrap around—

_No._ Eggsy thought, willing himself not to go down that road. _I’m cutting you off, Unwin. No._

“By the way, are you free tomorrow after your classes?”

Before Eggsy’s logic could take the reins, his mind started building a scenario—him and Harry sitting in a candlelit booth, holding hands over the white tablecloth, and Harry’s other hand beginning to slowly slide up Eggsy’s thigh…

“Eggsy?”

“Oh? Yes,” Eggsy quickly said, hoping nothing on his face was giving away his… _thoughts_.

Harry cheerfully replied, “Excellent, I hope you don’t mind, but my British Literature class just had an exam, and I still have some papers left over from Medieval History—“

Eggsy ruthlessly crushed the disappointment that was welling up in his chest as he grinned and said, “Say no more; I got your back.”

“Wonderful. See you at five?”

“Yes, yeah, of course.”

Eggsy tried not to sigh as Harry smiled again at him and began walking away, gracefully swinging his briefcase without so much as a bump against his long, slender legs.

_Hate to see you go, but love to watch you leave,_ his brain supplied.

“Fuck,” Eggsy muttered quietly, and adjusting his bag over his shoulder, hurried to get back to the dormitories before it got dark.

* * *

_From the email of Eggsy Unwin:_

_… The professor leaned forward, eyes glinting like the melted chocolate between Eggsy’s fingers. “Tonight, we’re not going to grade papers, in honor of a special occasion.”_

_“Oh?” Eggsy breathlessly asked, quickly licking the sweet treat dripping down his fingers. It was getting very warm in the cramped space all of the sudden. “What do you—“_

_Harry took his hand in his, putting his fingers to his lips, and sucked._

_“Harry,” Eggsy weakly breathed, and that little word seemed to make Harry_ _snap_ _._

_Leaning over the desk, Harry roughly tugged at the collar of Eggsy’s jacket, sending him colliding against the desk, his thighs banging into the wood as his feet were dragged across the floor, as Harry kissed him harder than Eggsy had been kissed in his life._

_That's when everything changed._

_Eggsy responded, deepening their potent kiss and threading his fingers in Harry’s hair. As the kiss grew more and more heated, the air filled with gasps and moans, Eggsy found himself sprawled on the desk, papers swept away with an impatient swipe of Harry’s arm onto the floor, and his clothes in a rumpled state. Harry himself had undone his tie and popped the buttons of his shirt, and was also kissing him harder, hands fisting into Eggsy’s hair. The hot sweep of Harry’s tongue made Eggsy whimper, as well as the heated pools of passionate desire that were Harry’s eyes._

_He should have been embarrassed at the way he was acting—did he even lock the door?—but he didn’t care. This was everything he wanted. It was perfect. The best gift he’d ever been given._

_And Eggsy didn't want this to end._

* * *

After a long day of classes and a session of grading papers, Eggsy sighed when it was time to meet up with Roxy. She was amazing and all, but romance was not what he wanted to think about so soon after breathing the same air as Harry for nearly two hours.

Obviously sensing Eggsy’s distracted lack of typing, Roxy suggested something to liven up the atmosphere and to hopefully break them both out of writer’s block.

“Let’s make this a challenge.” She squinted, scanning the library, crowded with chattering study groups. “We both come up with a person we know, then have come up with a story in the span of…oh, ten minutes. Plot, build-up, and the…climax.”

Eggsy nodded. “Sounds good to me,” he agreed, quickly pulling up an empty document. “Now, I guess we just call out a name on the count of three.”

Roxy shook her head, already looking intense, and Eggsy inwardly shuddered, remembering their first Scrabble game during their first year at uni. “I’ve actually got…a name generator. Amelia programmed it.”

Eggsy stared at her. “Did you tell her what it was for?”

“Of course not,” Roxy said archly. “But let’s do this, Unwin. On the count of three—“

“One, two, three—“

The generator popped up two names, each in its own white box, and Eggsy felt his heart skip and plummet.

“Merlin,” Roxy read, just as Eggsy groaned, “Harry?” He then smirked, trying to mask his little skip of horror in his chest that Harry was _still_ somehow lurking in his life. “The head of the computer engineering department and the headmaster? Bring it on. Shouldn’t be too hard, seeing as they’re both right fit blokes.”

“Less talking, more writing,” Roxy advised, who was already typing furiously on her laptop.

“Oi, not fair, you didn’t even—“ Quickly glancing at the clock on his laptop, Eggsy began to write, not stopping when his fingers missed a key and not even bothering to indent. His mind raced frantically for some semblance of plot, having Merlin and Harry meet in the staff room, then in one of their offices…

As for the kissing, Eggsy had that covered. Unlike Roxy, he had kissed blokes. This was his element.

Also, Eggsy was fairly confident that Roxy had not thought too hard about Harry—or blokes in general—in that way, so he had another advantage—not that he was going to tell her that, though.

A shrill alarm burst from Roxy’s laptop’s speakers, and both called, “Time!,” Roxy looking a bit frazzled and Eggsy as cool as a cucumber.  

“Well, then,” Roxy said, “let’s see what you wrote. Swap?”

Only two minutes passed before Roxy choked, and Eggsy paused, right in the middle of Harry pouring Merlin some tea. “What?” he asked defensively.

“Eggsy,” Roxy said slowly. “Don’t tell me that you just wrote about them banging in the office.”

“…No?” Eggsy ventured.

Roxy gave him a look, then started scrolling farther down, as Eggsy desperately tried to focus his attention on Merlin’s apparently-posh flat that involved a nice, cushy couch for two men to sit down on, trying to ignore the squirming in his stomach when Harry _smiled fondly at his friend, drinking in every inch of his face_.

Finally, Roxy cleared her throat, and to Eggsy’s utter mortification, with a distinctly level tone, read:

_“‘Might I see you in my office?’ Harry asked, smiling coyly in Merlin’s direction, but inside, his heart raced like a greyhound thundering down the track. He was still trying to make sense of it, all of it, from the night before that was earth-shattering and raw and fraught with passion. Nothing had ever felt like that before in his life, so exhilarating and literally wall-banging and theoretically full of fireworks._

_He then cornered Merlin up against the desk, and unbuttoning his jacket, Harry made the other man arch and moan wontonly—_ “

“All right, I get it.” Eggsy muttered, feeling his entire face heat up.

Roxy then remarked primly, “You also spelled ‘wantonly’ wrong.”

“Yeah, _thanks_ , Rox.”

“And honestly, Eggsy, you just ended it after…the desk. Come off it, no confessions? No conversations? It’s _romance_ , not erotica.”

Eggsy sighed, taking his laptop back. “I _know._ I just…” _Couldn’t what? Write a romance without—oh, come on, really pathetic, Unwin._

His best friend then shook her head. “Eggsy, I know guys are supposed to think about sex non-stop, but can you at least try to not turn our class into a porn-writing session? If I have to hear Charlie reading his own out loud, I’d drop the course, I swear.”

Her joke made Eggsy smile, and at the same time, shiver with disgust. “Yeah, you’re right. How about another round, then? Safe for work and all.”

The rest of the evening was spent using the generator, then working on their actual story until it was time to wrap up. By that time, Eggsy’s wrists hurt so much that he suspected that they’d be sore in the morning, and Roxy was beginning exercises, stretching out one arm, palm out, and swivelling and bending her wrists back.

“How about we do the generating thing again? Just for kicks?” Eggsy asked, just as Roxy shoved her laptop charger into her bag.

“All right,” she agreed, looking at the clock across the room, “but we’re going to have to email our stories to each other; I have to meet Uncle Alastair for dinner tonight.”

Activating the program, they both watched it eagerly, until:

“Harry Hart and Eggsy Unwin,” Roxy read off, with a smirk. “Congratulations.”

Eggsy gave her the V’s, then contemplated how much the world loved to take the piss on him.

* * *

_From the email of Eggsy Unwin:_

_… “God, I want you,” the professor breathed between the sweet kisses, and Eggsy smiled, even though his back was killing him from laying on the hard desk._

_“I want you, too,” he confessed, relieved to finally, finally say it after such a long time. “I_ _want_ _you, Harry.”_

_Harry paused, pulling away. “You do?” he asked hesitantly, so different from his usually confident manner._

* * *

“You wanted to see me?”

“I hear from Professor Morton that you turned in a splendid paper about _Pygmalion_ ,” Harry said, looking up from the papers he was grading.  

“Thank you,” Eggsy replied, a little bemused; Harry normally didn’t call him in just to congratulate him on a well-written essay.

“But there’s something else that you ought to be congratulated for.” Reaching underneath his desk and pulling out a drawer, Harry took out a red box with a gold ribbon looped in elaborate curls and a dark red envelope slid underneath it. “Happy birthday, Eggsy.”

Eggsy took it with shaking hands. “Can I…open it?”

When Harry nodded, Eggsy did open it, and his heart melted in his chest right then and there. It was a box of hand-rolled truffles, along with a card that detailed the insides of each one, and in the envelope was a card that had a lovely message written in cursive and a Visa gift card.  

“How—how much is this?”

Harry only smiled. “I always give two gifts. One practical, and one less so.”

With the gift card, depending how much was on it, Eggsy could spend it on anything: gas, clothes for Daisy, baby formula, even groceries. The place where the amount was supposed to be written on was blank, and horrific visions of a number followed by a zero or two or three danced in mind.

“Is this allowed, though?” Eggsy asked hesitantly, still holding the card in his hands, half wanting to hold onto it as tightly as he could and half wanting to give it back with polite apologies. “I mean, professors giving students gifts and all—not that I’m not grateful, but—“

Harry shook his head. “You’re my teacher’s aide and no longer my student, technically, and there are no rules against it, as long as I’m not giving you gifts in order for you to do something nefarious for me or vice versa.”

“But you’re writing my recommendation—“

“Eggsy, you haven’t given me anything to make it seem as if this was a well-struck deal, and besides, your marks and exemplary work cancel out a traditional _lacking student gets by on bribes_ trope.” Harry picked up the box and handed it to him. “Take the gifts, Eggsy, with my congratulations.”

“Thank you.” Eggsy said, smiling, and when Harry smiled back, he thought, _I’m truly, utterly fucked._

* * *

_From the email of Eggsy Unwin:_

_Eggsy’s lips were sticky and sore, but he forced the next words out: “I do. I really do. I mean, this might never work, but I want you. I want you so much it hurts. But you don’t have to say it back. You’re my superior. You have your whole career set out. You’re respected and older and posh and—by that definition, compared to me, you’re totally unattainable.”_

_Harry shook his head. “Eggsy,” he began. “You’re right—“_

_Eggsy cut him off: “I know! And I…I can’t stand this anymore! Every time I see you, I want more. I wait for when I have to be called in, I watch you when you’re in the room, and I always want…I want something more than this…” He gestured to their state of clothing, the mess, the sweat on their bodies. “And I know you never—“_

_“I want you!” Harry practically shouted, and Eggsy startled, before Harry gentled his voice: “I wait for you after I call you in, I watch_ _you_ _when you’re in the room, and I also want…want something more than this. I love you, Eggsy, and I—it’ll be difficult, but I’m willing to work at this, if you are. But you’re so young and full of potential and I can’t bear to—“_

_“Shut up,” Eggsy declared, kissing him soundly. His heart was at a boil now. “Shut up. I love you, too.”_

* * *

That weekend, Eggsy, after sharing the contents of the gold-foil wrapped truffles with his family—though Daisy was only allowed one—sat down to write.

He picked up a truffle, holding it between finger and thumb, and it began to melt in the warm weather. Eggsy popped it in his mouth, savoring the nuts and dark chocolate, then licked his fingers.

Then, he thought of _Harry_ licking it off instead. Imagined Harry closing his lips around the digit, sucking the chocolate off Eggsy’s finger. Imagined Harry’s warm, soft mouth pulling off, then licking his lips, then asking, with his voice silkier than the chocolates, “May I kiss you?” Imagined himself breathlessly scoffing _yes_ and pulling Harry in, tasting sweetness and nuttiness and caramel…

He remembered the birthday card, which sat on his desk in a place of honor, and picked it up to read the message inside— _Dear Eggsy, I’m immensely proud of you for how far you’ve come and also immensely fond of our time together. I may have taught you what I know about literature and how to edit papers, but you’ve taught me a great many things yourself, such as perseverance, humor, and warmth. Happy birthday, HH._

Eggsy tried to picture Harry writing it. His mind kept drifting back to visions of Harry at an oak desk at home, armed with an old-fashioned pen and the light from a silver lamp. And Eggsy let himself fantasize that he was coming in through the door, holding two bottles of beer, and Harry looking up at him with a fond smile, craning his face upwards so Eggsy could kiss him...

Eggsy went to his laptop and wrote, occasionally having to stop and breathe, fingers just above the keyboard. Doing his best to ignore the growing state of his trousers, Eggsy ferociously typed, sucking air in between his teeth as he wrote more about Harry biting at his neck, gently sliding Eggsy’s jacket off his shoulders, gripping his shoulders, running his fingers through Eggsy’s hair, snogging him senseless, murmuring sweet nothings.  

Satisfied when finished, he opened another tab to ask Harry about his recommendation letter, dragging the most recent file that contained the contents of his admittedly-small resume and a list of different things he hadn’t mentioned to him.

Without a second glance, Eggsy pressed SEND.

* * *

_From the email of Eggsy Unwin:_

_… Harry smiled at him, tired but adoring. His curls were mussed and his glasses were askew, but he never looked more handsome, even with the chocolate ringed around his mouth. "Why is it that these things occur in an office?"_

_Eggsy smiled back, leaning over to kiss the other man. It lacked fireworks, to be true, but it was sweet. It meant something. "Because you're always working. You need to get out more often."_

_"In that case...I want to take you out. To dinner."_

_Eggsy gasped. "A real dinner? Not like our business ones?"_

_"A real candlelight dinner," Harry declared. "A meaningful one. To new beginnings and to prove how ardently I'm in love with you, my dear, sweet darling. What do you say?"_

_"I say yes."_

* * *

Harry now rubs his temples, and Eggsy’s not sure whether to stay silent or offer the man another apology. He glances at the screen, and the evidence is condemning: an email addressed to Headmaster Harry Hart from Gary Unwin, with multiple, very detailed paragraphs.

Eggsy has no possible alternative explanation. He’s not sure that even Roxy could have talked herself out of this.

“Professor Hart,” Eggsy begins, just to give it a go, but the headmaster raises one palm in the air, halting anything Eggsy was about to say, which, admittedly, wasn’t going to be enough.

“Mr. Unwin, I’m flattered, but this chocolate fantasy you so…lovingly detailed is not going to happen.”

“It wasn’t meant for you,” Eggsy blurts out, but that just seems worse. He winces. “I mean, I’m sorry. It was entirely inappropriate, and you can—I mean, I don’t want you to _expel_ me, but if you want to, you can, because you’re headmaster and all—and I suppose my TA job is fucked, too—but I didn’t mean it.”

“Mean what?”

Eggsy frowns. “Sending...it...to you?” he offers, weakly.

Harry looks very serious indeed. “Did you mean what you wrote?”

Nearly choking, Eggsy manages a “sir—”

“I’m not asking you if you meant to send it to me. I’m asking you if you...meant what you wrote.”

“I…”

Here, Eggsy logically knows that he should lie his arse off. Say it was a joke, say it was some inappropriate drivel, say it was just writing practice, even.

But he can’t lie. He owes Harry the truth, and if it means being sacked or expelled, that’s on him. Eggsy knows he shouldn’t have allowed his feelings to go so far out of control, especially not like this.

So, here he goes. No grand speeches. No flowery words. No ardent declarations.

“Professor Hart,” Eggsy starts, “Yes, I have…feelings for you, but this shouldn’t have affected my conduct here as a student and as an employee of this university. You’ve done a lot for me, and I appreciate that, but I accept any consequences for my inappropriate behavior towards you. I realize that this can’t happen, and I’m sorry.” He pauses, folding his hands in front of him. “Again.”

Harry sighs. “You’re right,” he says. “This can’t happen.”

Eggsy briefly closes his eyes, a lump forming in the back of his throat. “Right,” he mutters. “Right, of course.”

“You’re going to graduate in next term. And until that happens, we cannot be involved.” Before Eggsy’s brain could process what Harry was saying, the headmaster continues, determined but clearly nervous, “It would be highly inappropriate, and, forgive me for saying this, detrimental to my career as well as your future. Both of which I do care about, but I also...care about you.”

“…What?” Eggsy asks, rather stupidly.

It’s Harry’s turn to take a deep breath now. “I care about you,” he repeats. “And I never meant to pursue it until you…told me. But if you don’t want this—“

“I do,” Eggsy blurts out, still stunned. “Yeah.” He then repeats, breath shaky, “Yeah.”

“All right. After graduation, I’d like to take you out to dinner. A real candlelight dinner," Harry reiterates, and Eggsy thinks, _you little shit._ “What do you say?"

Eggsy smiles. He knows what’s next.

"I say yes."

**Author's Note:**

> Bonus points if you catch the nods to _Jane the Virgin_ and _Scandal_ (as well as various other Harlequin romance tropes)!


End file.
